


Bella Figura

by Seascribe



Category: due South
Genre: Dressing Rooms, First Times, Frottage, M/M, Snark, menswear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seascribe/pseuds/Seascribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Detective Kowalski is in need of some sartorial guidance, in order to convincingly insinuate himself into a very important event that could hold the key to bringing the entire Mondelli operation down.  I told them I knew just the man for the job." </p><p>"With all due respect, sir, you gotta be kidding me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bella Figura

**Author's Note:**

> The original premise came from Scribe. Deputychairman did her usual fantastic mix of handholding and betaing. And Draycevixen on LJ taught me things about how fancy men's clothing shops work. Any remaining errors or liberties with reality are my own.

"They put _Kowalski_ undercover on the Mondelli case?" Ray demands. "What the hell were they thinking?" 

"Probably that he'd done such a bang up job going under as an Italian already that this would be a piece of cake," Welsh says. 

"Yeah, but have they looked at the guy? I kinda figured the holey t-shirts would've clued them in that he wasn't the man for the job." 

"Who can say how the minds of our esteemed colleagues at the 32nd work," Welsh intones. "But the point of this discussion is that Detective Kowalski is the man on that particular job, and is in need of some sartorial guidance, in order to convincingly insinuate himself into a very important event that could hold the key to bringing the entire Mondelli operation down. I told them I knew just the man for the job." 

"With all due respect, sir, you gotta be kidding me." 

"Here's Kowalski's contact information. I expect the two of you to represent the CPD with a convincing façade of maturity for the duration of your partnership." 

*

Kowalski, unsurprisingly, is every bit as unenthusiastic about this assignment as Ray. 

"I'm a professional," he sulks, when Ray turns up at his door the next morning. "I been doing undercover for six years, I don't need you to teach me how to do my job." 

"Too bad you didn't learn how to dress like a grown up during any of those undercover gigs," Ray retorts. "I'm not here to teach you how to do your job. All I'm here to do is make sure you look good enough to get in the door at Mondelli's and know enough garment district lingo not to get yourself kicked right back out again. Anything else, you're on your own." 

Kowalski folds his arms across his chest and glares at Ray. 

"Why don't they put you on the case, then, if you're such an expert?" 

"Because your lieu at the 32nd wants the laurels, is why," Ray says, trying not to look at Kowalski's threadbare cotton jockeys or the fraying hem of his t-shirt. "And I don't do undercover any more. Now go put some pants on so we can get to work." 

*

Ray had figured that, having survived being confronted by Kowalski in his underwear, the worst was over and the rest of the job would be a walk in the park; stick him in some halfway decent gear, leave him with a list of designer names to study, and call it a day. But Kowalski has other ideas.

"I _got_ underwear, Vecchio," he snaps, while Ray's going through the list of things they need to pick up and where they'll find it. "This is not the kind of gig where people are going to be seeing them!" 

"I know you got 'em, I've had the bad luck to see them!" Ray retorts. "And your underwear that you'd had since high school isn't gonna cut it. If you're doing this gig, you gotta do it all the way. Superman boxers do not go well under tailored Armani suit pants, trust me." 

Kowalski bares his teeth at him. "I am not going underwear shopping with you." 

Ray scowls back. "We're not going underwear shopping together. I'm gonna tell you what you need and you're gonna buy it, that's it. Think of it as earning your undercover bonus." 

"I didn't even want the stupid gig," Kowalski mutters. "I was just getting the hang of answering to my own name again." He glares at Ray like he's daring him to make fun of him for saying that. 

"Well, you got it anyway," Ray says kindly. “It’s just for a day or two. Then you can go back to your holey jeans and 80s band t-shirts.”

Kowalski's glare deepens, and he looks away from Ray.

"C'mon then, let's get this over with." 

*

Ray's not dumb enough to take Kowalski to any of the men's shops he actually goes to, because he wants to be able to show his face in them again. But he's heard good things about Einman's, across town. 

Kowalski glowers at the salesclerk that greets them at the door and stands there looking sullen while Ray explains what they need--a couple of good suits, some shirts with actual buttons, and all the accessories. He'll eat his tie if Kowalski owns cufflinks or a decent pair of dress shoes. Or underwear without cartoons on them.

When the clerk asks for Kowalski's measurements, something like panic flickers across Kowalski's face, before he gets his glower back under control. He shrugs. 

"If you'll just step this way, we'll start off with getting those taken care of," the clerk says. Kowalski gives Ray a betrayed look. Ray smirks at him. 

Kowalski fidgets and twitches the whole time, and the clerk keeps giving him these looks of exasperation mingled with a little bit of naked terror, like he's not sure Kowalski isn't about to snap and murder everybody in the place. Ray should've brought popcorn. 

With prodding from the clerk, Kowalski picks out a suit and a couple of dress shirts, giving Ray a defiant look after each one. Ray rolls his eyes and adds a couple more shirts and another suit. Buying a suit off the rack isn't the ideal solution, but after watching Kowalski getting his measurements taken, Ray's pretty sure that subjecting him to a tailor would end in bloodshed. 

"Start trying things on," Ray orders, after the clerk gets them set up with a dressing room. "I'll be back in a second with ties." 

The clerk, understandably, isn't in a hurry to get anywhere near Kowalski if he doesn't have to, so he lets Ray handle picking out an array of Italian silk ties that Kowalski will probably hate. Ray opens the dressing room door without knocking, which turns out to be a mistake. 

Kowalski, like the sullen teenager he apparently never grew out of being, has taken his time getting dressed, and Ray opens the door on him buttoning up his dove grey dress shirt, with the cuffs still undone and his suit pants unzipped. Ray swallows hard. Sure, he'd seen Kowalski in his skivvies this morning, but Kowalski rumpled and half-dressed in Armani virgin wool and silk that's--well, that's something else. Ray grits his teeth. He's just here for the job. He's not here to appreciate how good Kowalski's legs look in those pants or how his shoulders fill out the shoulders of that shirt or the surprisingly vulnerability of his bony wrists in the unbuttoned cuffs. 

"My nephew is less trouble to take suit shopping than you," Ray grumbles, looking down at Kowalski's threadbare socks in an effort to hide his reaction. He drapes the ties over the rack and grabs the cuff of Kowalski's shirt and starts doing up the double buttons. 

Kowalski watches him work with this kind of funny expression on his face, and when Ray finishes with one cuff, Kowalski offers him the other without a word. Ray's already started buttoning it up before he realises he probably should have made Kowalski do it. He tries not to wince. 

"Tuck your shirt in," he says. Kowalski's stupid, stupid hands smooth the shirt down across his hips, under the waistband of his pants, and Ray snatches a tie off the rack, trying desperately to distract them both. 

"Do you even know how to knot a tie, Kowalski?" He thrusts it under Kowalski's nose, hoping like hell that Kowalski hasn't picked up what he's doing to Ray. 

"It's been a while," Kowalski says. "Why don't you refresh my memory?" He licks his lips, and lifts his chin a little. Ray bites his tongue hard to keep from coming in his pants. Kowalski gives him a lazy, challenging smile, and waits. 

"What the _fuck_ are you playing at?" Ray hisses. Kowalski's smile widens.

"You like me all dressed up," he says. Ray wants to wipe that smile off his face, but he's not really in a position to deny it, not with his dick so hard it _hurts_. 

But they're not--he can't--fuck. He closes his eyes for a second, steeling himself, and snakes the tie around Kowalski's neck, knotting it with shaking fingers. 

"Oh my god," Kowalski says, and kisses him. Ray groans into his mouth. "Shut up," Kowalski says. "You want everybody out there to know what we're doing?" 

This is the worst idea Ray's ever gone along with--and after Fraser, that's saying a lot--but there's no way he's gonna be the one that stops it. He shoves Kowalski up against the full length mirror, grinding his hard-on against Kowalski's hip through a couple thousand dollars worth of Armani. Kowalski gives him a sharp, feral grin. 

"I had no idea you were this easy," he mutters, grabbing Ray's ass and yanking him closer, rocking hard against his thigh. "I wouldn't have given you such a hard time before, if I'd known this was where we'd end up." 

"And you're saying _I'm_ easy?" Ray retorts. 

"Yeah, I am," Kowalski says and ducks his head to bite Ray's neck. Ray can't help it, he groans again, way too loud, and Kowalski slaps a hand over his mouth. 

"See?" Kowalski says smugly. "So, so easy." Ray makes a furious, muffled noise under his hand, and Kowalski looks delighted. "You're just pissed off because you know I'm right, huh?" 

Ray shoves his thigh harder against Kowalski's dick, and Kowalski makes a strangled noise. He takes his hand off of Ray's mouth, grabbing his hips and shoving back against him, the two of them working out a rough, uneven rhythm. Ray gets his hand in Kowalski's hair, pulling his head back so that he can scrape his teeth down Kowalski's neck, and Kowalski shudders all over.

"Fuck, Vecchio," he whispers hoarsely and fumbles at Ray's belt, sliding his hand inside to rub his palm against Ray's dick through his boxers. "Should've figured you'd wear silk," he says with a huff of laughter. Ray's too far gone to say anything back to that, because Kowalski's flicking his thumb over the wet spot spreading over the head of Ray's dick, and Ray just buries his face against the side of Kowalski's neck to muffle his groan as he loses it, his hands clenching up in the soft, smooth cotton of Kowalski's shirt. 

Kowalski makes a needy noise, and Ray tips his head up to kiss him, too wrung out to offer any kind of resistance and make him work for it. Kowalski's rocking desperately against Ray's thigh, and Ray pulls himself together just enough to push back, giving Kowalski that last little bit of friction he needs. Kowalski whimpers against Ray's mouth when he comes, leaning in to let his forehead rest against Ray's. 

"You're definitely going to have to buy this suit now," Ray murmurs. 

"Probably," Kowalski agrees. He runs a hand over the damp mess he's made of the front of the pants. "Next time I wear it, you wanna take it off me before we fuck?" 

Ray's breath catches in his throat. "Yeah," he says. "Next time, let's do that."


End file.
